


shackles and bars can't hold her down

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ....very brief and very ineffective attempted murder?, F/F, Jail Sex, an excuse for me to write porn. that's it, the condesce wears a swimsuit under all her clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: Finally, she responds to you, tilting her head and crossing her arms over her chest (and, idly, you notice what a nice chest it is under the tight green dress she’s wearing). “Oh, you have no idea,” she says, and now there’s a twinge of something else in her voice- a growling undertone that makes you shift, inhaling deeper. She smiles at you, all sharp teeth and rust-red lips, and you raise an eyebrow.“No idea of what, exactly?” you ask.She laughs, deep and throaty. “What I’m capable of."





	shackles and bars can't hold her down

“Hello, _Empress_ ,” she says, and you hear the mockery in her voice, despite the shackle on her left ankle chaining her to the wall, despite the bars and the cold stone of the floor she’s sitting on, long legs stretched out in front of her. She moves her head, visibly looking you up and down to make up for the lack of pupils in her blank, changing eyes. “You’re shorter than I thought you would be.”   
  
You grit your teeth in annoyance, but manage to force your face into a bored smirk. “Coddamn,” you say, “I sure fuckin’ hope your last words are gonna be moar impressive than that. Ya know how many people have given me that shit?” She says nothing, and your smirk breaks out into a smile. “Wanna know how many of them kept their legs?” She’s silent, still, and you shake your head. “Damn, gill, you outta lines already? I’d have thought you’d be tougher than that.”   
  
Finally, she responds to you, tilting her head and crossing her arms over her chest (and, idly, you notice what a nice chest it is under the tight green dress she’s wearing). “Oh, you have no idea,” she says, and now there’s a twinge of something else in her voice- a growling undertone that makes you shift, inhaling deeper. She smiles at you, all sharp teeth and rust-red lips, and you raise an eyebrow.  
  
“No idea of what, exactly?” you ask.

She laughs, deep and throaty. “What I’m capable of,” she says, and now your annoyance is something else entirely. You want to take her by her curling horns and slam her against the wall, make her gasp and moan under your hands and lips, puncture her skin with your teeth and watch her common, peasant blood leak from the wounds. You want to make her stop talking.  She tilts her head back to rest against the wall, baring her throat to you, and closes her eyes as if she’s perfectly comfortable where she is. “I could leave now, you know,” she says. “I could destroy you completely and just walk out.” You don’t know, but somehow you don’t think she’s lying. Maybe it’s the challenge of her vulnerability, the presentation of her windpipe and veins and the creamy light grey skin under her chin as if she knew you couldn’t hurt her. Like she’s immortal, even though her execution is only hours away (and you know it won’t be nearly as pretty as her face, with her long eyelashes surrounding multicolored and changing eyes, her smooth skin, her straight, silky fine hair…)  
  
Before you can think better of it, you unlock and enter the cell, shutting the door behind yourself with a metallic clang. She sits forwards slightly, leaning towards you, and you notice that her eyes have gone a little wider. Apparently she didn’t expect that of you, and you feel a moment of satisfaction for surprising her. “If you’re so all-powerful,” you say, your voice lowered almost to a whisper, “then what’s stopping you from killing me now?”  
  
She blinks, for just a moment, then shoves herself to her feet with a sudden, sharp movement. Before you can move away she’s at the end of the chain that binds her, within arm’s reach of you, your faces almost touching. “Just one thing,” she says, and you can see her breathing fast, her chest rising and lowering.  
  
“What?” you ask, so quietly that only she can hear.  
  
“This.” And she grabs you and pulls you closer to her, reeling you in like a fish.

Your lips meet, and you tense, almost pulling away; after all, she’s a prisoner, she’s a rustblood, she’s the lowest of your subjects and you’re royalty. You shouldn’t be doing this. But she’ll be dead in a matter of hours, anyway, and even if people found out, well, you’re the fucking Empress. You rule their pathetic asses, and everyone should know by now that you do what you want. So you don’t move away. Instead, you press closer to her, kissing back. Why shouldn’t you?

Her mouth is soft at first, and then you open your mouth and nip at her lower lip and she pulls you in even closer, her hands moving down to your ass, your hips, pulling you against her. Her tongue flickers into your mouth, and you taste her- blood and iron on her breath, mint on her lips. You run your own tongue across them, licking off lipstick, and you press your hands against her chest, ripping at her dress, feeling the warmth and soft pliability of her breasts beneath your hands. She gasps under your lips, taking a step backwards, and you push harder, making her back up until she’s pinned against the rock wall by your hands, your knee between her legs. You move your mouth from hers, kissing across her cheek and down to the softness of her neck. You suck on it and taste the salt of her sweat, branding her with a mark, purple as a bruise against her skin. She groans slightly and moves her hands to press them against the back of your head and tangle in your hair, and you can’t stand it anymore.  
  
You claw at her dress, tearing it apart, and buttons fly off in all directions, scattering to the corners of the cell. She bucks against you, rubbing herself on your leg, and you wrestle the dress completely off. She’s not wearing anything underneath. Slowly, dragging your nails over her skin, you move one of your hands down to her crotch, rubbing your fingers against it. She’s wet already, and when you run your thumb over her clit she moans, rough and breathless. Your other hand you keep on her breasts, rubbing circles around her areola, feeling the nubs of her nipples and cupping your hand around her. “Yes,” she hisses. “Yes!”  
  
You move your head, kiss your way slowly down her body, stopping every now and then to bite her, hard, your teeth breaking the skin. The taste of sweat and skin and her mouth mingles with the salt of her blood, and you growl through your teeth, leaning closer. You stop for a minute to lick at her breasts, the smooth skin of them silky against your tongue, then continue downwards, oh so slowly. You can hear her breathing getting more frantic, more frustrated, until finally she grabs you by your horns and forces your head down further, down to the wetness of her. Abruptly, you stop, shutting your mouth tightly. She exhales sharply and pushes your head down more, but you pinch her, hard, on the inside of her thigh, and she gasps and lets go of you. You stand again, looking her in the eyes. Carefully, you wipe your mouth.  
  
“I,” you say, quietly, “am the Empress. Yoar ruler. I’m Her Imperious Condescension. And you think you can push me?” She stares at you, her cheeks flushed and constantly changing eyes narrowed in defiance and anger, and you shake your head slowly. “No.” You press yourself forwards and wrap your hands loosely around her throat. “We go at my pace. Ya got that?” She glares at you, but nods, and you squeeze once, lightly, then let go and move your hands back down to her shoulders. You lean in and whisper to her. “You do me first.”  
  
She grits her teeth, and you can see her having to struggle not to lunge at you and bite you, force you to pleasure her before all else. But you know, and she knows, that you meant what you said to her. So instead she shoves you backwards, roughly, and you get the message. You step back and lower yourself to the floor, and she follows you down, her lips on your throat, her teeth scraping your skin. She straddles you, her legs spreading, her wet cleft rubbing against your hips. You make a sound in your throat, almost a whine, and arch your back up against her. She responds by moving lower, licking at your collarbone, and you move your hands up and ball them into fists, pulling at her hair. She bites you again, and you feel blood start to flow, but it doesn’t hurt- everything is drowned out by a mounting sense of desperation for release, for her fingers and tongue inside you, for her mouth and her skin against yours.  
  
As if sensing this, she fumbles for the zipper on your skin-tight bodysuit, finding it in the back and slowly peeling the fabric off you. You help her, kicking it off yourself, leaving it crumpled on the floor near the torn remains of her dress. Underneath you’re wearing your swimsuit, a black one-piece, and now she doesn’t bother with patience or helping you get it off- instead, she tears at it, shredding it, yanking the scraps away from your body and leaving you bare beneath her. She stops for a moment, looking at you, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks despite yourself. She smirks at you, then runs her hand over your bare skin, fondling your front, her warm hands over the roundness of your breasts. She squeezes gently and runs her nails, much sharper and longer than yours, over your nipples, and you feel yourself breathing faster, almost gasping for air. You move your arms to her back and run your hands over her skin, feeling her muscles, her shoulder blades underneath your palms. She seems almost delicate, and you would be worried about breaking her if she wasn't going to be broken soon anyways. She inhales, then pushes herself downwards, skipping all pretense.   
  
Her middle finger slips inside you, and conscious thought practically disintegrates right then and there. You let out a noise that seems ripped from your throat, a drawn-out and almost pained sound, and she laughs again. "You like that?" she asks, and you grind your hips against her in response, making a guttural noise deep in your chest as she crooks her finger against the ridges of your inner wall. Her nail scrapes inside you, sharp and stinging, and you lift your hips higher against her. You barely register the pain, you just want her deeper, deeper, _please_ , and then she withdraws, taking her finger out. You lift your head up slightly and see that she’s sucking on it, licking at her fingertip with a long, dark red tongue.   
  
She catches you looking and gives you a grin like she’s a dragon and you’re a wounded cholerbear cub. You resent her for it, but in response to your glare she merely smiles wider. “What the fuck’s so funny?” you ask, annoyed.  
  
She snorts. “What’s funny?” She pushes herself up and moves back over you, until you’re lying flat on your back again and she’s pinning you down with her arms on either side of you, her chest brushing yours just enough to make a shiver run through your entire body. She leans down and kisses you, her mouth hot and feverish and demanding. Then she draws herself back up and looks at you, and her eyes are as bottomless as the depths of space. “What’s funny,” she says, and her voice drops until you have to strain to hear it, “is that behind it all, behind every scrap of money and power, you’re just as desperate to be fucked as I am.”

You open your mouth to tell her- what? That you’re not, even though you are, you _know_ you are?- but you don’t get the chance, because suddenly her fingers are inside you again, two of them this time, and you feel your entire body flood with heat. She strokes the inside of you with them, long and slow, and you shudder and writhe uncontrollably underneath her, feeling the desperation building. You thrust against her, feeling her fingers slide deeper inside, and the need floods your mind until there’s almost nothing left. You feel her tongue slide across your stomach, teeth scratching your belly, and you push up towards her mouth in anticipation. “Do it,” you say, and your voice is choked and hungry and you hate how badly you want her but you can’t stop. You hear, as if from a distance, her saying something about how eager you are, but you couldn’t care less because she’s flicking her tongue against your clit and you almost dissolve underneath her. But you ride the feeling, and now she’s moving her hand and her tongue is wet and burning like a brand inside you, so much hotter than your body temperature. She licks deeper into you, her tongue flickering in and out between the V of her fingers set against you, and you hear the blood pumping through your head like the ocean you grew up in. And then she hooks a finger back into you, curling it against you, the nail hurting even as she tongue-fucks you, and you can’t take it at all anymore.

You convulse like you’ve been shocked with a live wire, your body arching into a quivering bow of ecstasy. Your mind shatters and it’s like you’ve never really been touched before, like none of the people before her ever mattered, like there was never any satisfaction before this- like you’ve been wiped blank as a slate while waves crash in your ears. Your thoughts return slowly with each passing second, until you’re lying on the ground breathing fast with your heart beating hard enough that you’re sure she can see it through your chest, and you feel more relaxed than you have since you could remember. The ceiling of the cell swirls a little in your vision, and you stare at it, letting it. It’s been a very, very long time since you’ve allowed yourself to let go.

The feeling doesn’t last long, though because she’s standing, dragging you by your arms with her, until you’re up. You stare at her face, and she narrows her eyes. “Forgotten already?” Her nails dig into the soft flesh of your forearms, and the anticipation starts building again, but not in the same way. She leans in and her lips brush your ear, her hair the side of your face. “It’s your turn.”

You grab her and draw her in close, kissing her again, licking her mouth, and she tenses under your hands. You feel her chest lift as she inhales and press against you, and in response you slide your hands down her body, feeling her quiver and shake under your fingertips. Your hands end up on her ass, soft and supple, and you dig your fingers into the skin, just once, just enough to make her gasp. Then, as you move your mouth to her breasts, sucking and nipping at the tender skin and enjoying how she arches her back towards you, your hands drift across her hips to her front, and you don’t bother playing with her this time- you feel her, slick and wet under your fingers. Very slowly you push two of them into her, and she almost buckles. She stumbles back against the wall again, bracing herself, and as you stroke her clit with the thumb of your other hand you think vaguely that you’ve come full circle and are now back, almost, to where you started. You push your fingers deeper and revel in her whimpering, in the way she pushes up against you for more. You revel in how she wants you, and as the thought enters your mind you push another finger into her and she cries out, clutching at you, her nails digging in. “Oh, fuck, yes,” she pants, in-between small, needy noises. You shove your fingers into her and she presses down to meet you, making tiny sounds underneath her breath, her eyes wide. “Please,” she whispers, and you decide that you’ve tortured her enough.

You go down on your knees in front of her and trail your tongue across her hood, her clit, licking around your fingers. One by one you withdraw them from the soaking heat of her, and you feel her shake as you do, whispering words now unintelligible to you. And then you bury your tongue in her, your mouth flush against her skin. You smell her, heady and strong, and the taste of her fills your mouth. You flick your tongue against her walls and she makes a keening noise and buries her hands in your hair to pull you closer, and you think about how she’ll be dead in a few hours, this woman you’re fucking. For some reason, this thought makes you sad- her crime was being a rustblood and a mutant in a palace space, and normally you wouldn’t care. You’d have had killed her immediately, or had her thrown out. But she was to be your example, and now you’re not sure you can let her go to her execution after this.

You make a decision then that after she comes, after the euphoria, you’ll kill her yourself. It’s better that way.

She grinds down onto your mouth and you open it further, sticking your tongue out as far as possible and swirling it against her. You rub against her clit with your hand and you can hear her losing control, her voice becoming rougher and louder as you go. You press harder against her, and she circles her hips more and more desperately, faster and faster until you dig your short nails as best you can into her inner thigh and she screams wordlessly as her entire body goes taunt as a bowstring. Her cry tapers off, slowly, into heavy breathing, and she goes slack against you. You lick one more time and then move, standing up to see her leaning against the wall like her limbs have been swapped out with ones fashioned from rubber. Her eyes, already far-away, are half-focused, her hair sticking to her face with sweat, and you know what you have to do.

You swallow, then push her against the wall and grab the sides of her head, prepared to snap her neck. Before you can begin to twist, though, her leg sweeps through yours and you fall painfully to the ground, away from her. You bash your elbow on the floor and swear loudly as pain shoots up your arm. “Fuck!” You scramble to get up, but she places her foot on your chest and pushes down and you stop, not because you think she could hurt you, but because that’s her left foot. The one supposed to be wearing the chains. And it’s bare.

You look at it, then at her face, and you can feel your mouth gaping wide. “What-“ you start to ask, but she interrupts.

“You know,” she says, her voice still raw and breathless, “I’d always wanted to meet you in person, but I worried. I thought I might be disappointed when I saw the woman who ruled this planet with an iron fist, that she would be weak. Soft, underneath it all.” She smiles down at you, and it’s far more disconcerting now. “I can see now I was wrong. You might be easily defeated now, but weak?” She pauses, shakes her head. “No. No one with the gall to try and kill _me_ can be weak, although they can be very foolish.” Then she holds up her hands and wands appear in them, slender, pointed white wands that look like they could easily take an eye out. Energy glows around her for a moment, and then she moves her foot and kneels down next to you, putting the tip of one of them under your chin. She points the other behind her, and you hear the clanking of metal chains and then feel a cold weight as the shackle shuts around your leg. When it’s in place, she stands, walking over to her ruined green dress. She puts it on, ignoring how it gapes open in the front, showing her naked chest. “I won’t be here for the execution you planned,” she says.

“Pity,” you say, glaring at her. “I worked damn hard on it.”

Her posture tells you she’s rolling her eyes, even though it’s impossible to tell by looking at them. “No matter how good it was, you can’t get rid of me that easy,” she responds.

“What the carp? Who even _are_ you?” you ask.

“Me?” She feigns surprise. “I’m only a rustblood. Low-class and common, remember?” You stare at her as she turns away to leave, opening the cell door like it was never an obstacle. Before she steps out, though, she glances at you over her shoulder. “The job I do, however,” she says, “isn’t so common.”

“Oh?” you ask. “What do you do, exactly?”

She grins. “I’m the Handmaid.”

And then it all clicks together, and you realize the woman standing in front of you is none other than the Demoness, the immortal and indescribably dangerous servant of Death himself.

She sees the pieces fit together in your head and nods. “And,” she continues, “since I won’t be seeing again you for a long time, I’ll give you some advice.” She looks at you, and you look back into her endless eyes. “You failed, trying to stamp out the last uprising,” she says. “There’s another rebellion coming, another storm. Led by a bronzeblood this time. After you kill him, you need to move your empire off this stinking planet. Go somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the Handmaid asks. “You won’t survive if you don’t.” She tosses something small and metallic through the bars, and it bounces off the floor with a small _clink_ and lands near you. You grab it and hold it up- the key to your shackles. “Consider this a parting gift.” Then the Handmaid steps forwards into thin air and vanishes, and you’re left staring at nothing, wondering if you’ve just gone completely insane.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mint413 for editing! Love you < 3


End file.
